


Crosses

by dollylux



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Locker Room, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux





	Crosses

_Don't you know that I'll be around to guide you_  
 _Through your weakest moments to leave them behind you_  
 _Returning nightmares only shadows_  
 _We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now_  
 _Crosses all over, heavy on your shoulders_  
 _The sirens inside you waiting to step forward_  
 _Disturbing silence darkens your sight_  
 _We'll cast some light and you'll be alright for now_  
 _Crosses all over the boulevard_  
 _The streets outside your window overflooded_  
 _People staring they know you've been broken_  
 _Repeatedly reminded by the looks on their faces_  
 _Ignore them tonight and you'll be alright_  
 _We'll cast some light and you'll be alright_

 

 

Sergio had seen Fernando's game. He had seen his fight, seen the rain, the deep, muddy trenches gaping all over the pitch at his beloved Vicente Calderón. He watched as Fernando tried so uselessly to win the game for Atlético again, the futility of it seeming to wash over Fernando each time he lost his footing and landed in the mud. Sergio felt his heart break for how soaking wet Fernando was, for how stained with mud his kit was, his captain's armband, his blonde hair caked with it, his flushed, freckled face smeared. They had lost badly. When the final whistle blew, the Atléti boys couldn't seem to get off the pitch fast enough. Sergio had been at home and had watched the game from the lazy comfort of his own couch. He left at the 65-minute mark, took a quick shower and then he was on his way across town. The Calderón was twenty minutes away, fifteen if he drove fast enough. The rain was pouring down in sheets and the closer he got to Fernando, the tighter his chest felt in sheer sympathy for him. He listened to the commentator on the radio announcing the game's end when he parked his car.

The staff at the Calderón knew Sergio, knew his importance to Fernando despite being Fernando's main enemy on his rivaling team. No one understood it, but they knew. Sergio was ushered in without a word or upward glance, pointed in the direction of which door to get to the locker rooms. He pushed his way through the throngs of people that were leaving, bitter and disappointed. He wanted to yell at them all, to defend his Fer, to scream at them about how they didn't understand, about how blind they were to how hard he fought for them. He pulled his hoodie tighter around himself, his hat all but hiding him as he stepped past security and into the long hallway that lead inevitably to the locker room, the echoes of the players eerily quiet somehow. There was a stillness to the movement, as if they were all just going through the motions. They knew defeat well.

He rounded the corner and kept close to the wall as Aguirre spoke to them, all of them shivering and heavy with loss and rain and mud, all of their eyes downcast. Sergio saw Fernando hidden behind a few players, sitting on the bench behind a few standing up. After a few moments everyone parted, some heading to the showers, some just stripping where they stood, some going for their lockers and their phones, seeking comfort. Fernando sat on the bench still, his hair long and streaked with the dark brown of mud and hanging over his eyes, hiding his face. He stared down at his feet, unaware of Sergio who was quickly approaching. Sergio reached out for him as he sank to his knees in front of him, clean, warm hands cupping cold, tear-stained cheeks. He pushed Fernando's hair gently behind his ears, using the sleeves of his hoodie to wipe mud from Fernando's face. Fernando's eyes widened first in surprise but then in desperation. He seemed to get so much smaller, so much younger as he reached for Sergio, forgetting how soaking and frozen he was, he just needed him, needed exactly those arms around him, that voice against his ear, that mouth against his temple, that boy who knew exactly what to do.

Sergio wrapped around him completely, pushing himself up taller on his knees as he hugged him, his brand new hoodie getting ruined but he didn't notice and wouldn't care even if he had. He lifted Fernando after a long moment of just holding him, lifting them both to their feet and guiding Fernando blindly back toward the showers. The other players ignored them as best as they could, they always did. Fernando only got flack when Atlético actually played Real.

Sergio reached up to turn on a shower and quickly set about undressing Fernando, stripping him of his kit and guiding him under the steaming water. He stroked and petted him even then, strong fingers pushing up into his hair to help the mud out before running down over Fernando's body with a small bar of soap he found, washing him clean and warming him. He finally met Fernando's eyes when his work was done and the still shivering boy was clean. Fernando searched his eyes with a soft smile that he found somewhere, glancing at the other couple of boys in the showers before he leaned forward and kissed Sergio, wetting Sergio more than he already was but neither of them cared. The kiss was chaste and ended tenderly, smiles touching, noses nuzzling, lashes ghosting.

Sergio dressed him quickly, both of them being silent, warmed by just each other's presence. Fernando's mood had changed considerably since Sergio had arrived. He had been wondering how he was even going to get up, how he was going to shower and dress himself and find his way to his car and his apartment, find his way to sleep that night. Fernando grinned as Sergio stripped himself of his ruined Real Madrid hoodie and tugged on one of Fernando's Atlético jackets. Sergio quirked an eyebrow, a smile on his face, daring Fernando to comment.

"Looks good on you."

"Not as good as it does on you."

Sergio wrapped an arm around Fernando's shoulders, drew him in close as they left the locker room and made their way toward the parking lot. Fernando made himself small against Sergio, closing his eyes and letting himself be guided. Sergio reached over to pull the hood on Fernando's jacket over his head before stepping out into the rainy night. Fernando smiled but still kept his eyes closed, an arm around Sergio's slight waist. He was still shivering, still bruised, his heart still hurting, but he would be alright. He had Sergio's warm car to look forward to, the comfort of his familiar flamenco music to guide them home. He had the exact sound of Sergio's key turning in the lock of his apartment door, the scent of Sergio's apartment (part sweat, part cologne, part Odi, all Sergio), the feel of his soft sheets against his naked skin. He had Sergio's ever-questing hands, the hungry comfort of his mouth, the fit and lock of Sergio's stomach against the arch of his back. He had the thick pressure of Sergio deep inside of him, the familiarity of the squeaking springs of his bed, the low thrum of Sergio's breathy moans in his ear. He had the burning warmth of Sergio's release inside of him, the absolute strength of his arms as he pulled him in against him. He had the weight of the layers of sheets and blankets, the rhythm of Sergio's heart as it slowed down to normal against his ear, Sergio's fingers once again taking up residence in his hair, down the notches of his spine.

He knew he would be alright.


End file.
